Harvest Festival
by saclateri
Summary: Major Lorne gets himself into trouble on a simple mission.


This one is ga unicorn's fault, honest. She wanted to know what happened to Lorne and Co so that they had to be rescued in Reliquary, and wouldn't let me away with "I have no idea, I just needed them out of the way." The thing is, it turns out she was right, and I did know what happened to them. So this is Lorne's story. It's a standalone so you don't have to read anything else for it to make sense.

By necessity, you won't recognise most of these guys, but I hope you can live with that. If anyone else wants to take them out to play please feel free.

Same routine as always - SGA doesn't belong to me. Surprised?

Finally, and most importantly, ga unicorn and ellex beta'ed this. Thanks! Any mistakes are because I changed things back again.

* * *

Junior scientist Tony Smith sweated his way through the briefing. His laser pointer shook so much as he indicated particular points it was hard to know if he wanted you to read number seven or number thirteen. 

It had all been described before, in countless other meetings, but someone had felt it necessary to arrange just one more before they left. So instead of checking their equipment or running through military matters with the lieutenant and the corporal, Lorne was sitting through yet another stuttering explanation. He fingered his radio absently – Tony had given it to him earlier. The scientist had sounded very pleased with the alarm he had programmed to remind them of the call in time at 1300 hours.

The mission was a relatively simple one, on paper. Certainly it was nothing like as complicated as Tony was making it sound. They were to attend a harvest festival on the Crethin home world as a pre-requisite to trade negotiations. That was it, just a simple religious ceremony that did not justify five hours of meetings. But Tony upped the ante by reminding everyone how excited the medics were over _that_ herb, not to mention the effect that the recent storms might have had on the Athosian harvests.

And so on and so on.

In the end Lorne had to interrupt: Lieutenant De Marco and Corporal Campbell looked like they were about to fall asleep. It had been an early start.

"So we have to go to a ceremony, shake a few hands then come home?"

The young man blustered and looked at Dr. Otugu, the anthropologist, for support. It was a shame that Otugu was dozing peacefully with his chin on his chest.

"Yes… well…" Smith started to say.

Lorne sighed and stood up. They were getting close to their departure time. He clapped to rouse the drowsy Marines and wake the sleeping scientist. "Right, let's ship out. Everyone on their best behavior." He winked at De Marco, his second in command. "Remember this isn't Sheppard's team, so let's try to avoid trouble."

The young guys smiled. It was a standing joke how often Sheppard and his crack team ended up finding trouble and bringing it home with them.

-

So that was how Lorne and his four team members ended up in sparse woodland near the Stargate, watching an argument between Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee.

"Hugely insulted," the first Crethin said. Tony had introduced him as Mori.

"They may not want to continue the trade agreement because of you…" The second Crethin had not been introduced, and didn't seem inclined to change that.

Otugu had the diplomacy training, and Smith had the knowledge about the Crethins, but, as usual, in the face of the unpredictable everyone turned to the military. And if you were military, you looked to the highest rank.

Which placed the buck firmly at Lorne's door.

"Gentleman." The two Crethins suddenly seemed to remember the newcomers. Lorne continued, "We are still happy to attend the harvest festival." It seemed a safe thing to say.

Mori seemed to be relieved. He nodded and directed the team into the trees. The other Crethin muttered, "Should have stayed awake and welcomed new visitors," as he followed behind.

It was tricky for Lorne, and particularly for the 6ft 2in De Marco to match their strides to the shorter aliens'. Neither Crethin was over four feet tall, with curled hair and bright clothes. Lorne had never seen 'The Lord of the Rings', but a resemblance to hobbits had been mentioned. Personally he saw them more as Munchkins from the 'Wizard of Oz.'

The path away from the Stargate was wide and smooth. Sunlight filtered through red and orange leaves, casting shadows around the trees, while wildlife made gentle noises. There was no sign of anyone else nearby, but this did not stop Lorne's scanning the trees for unfriendlies. It was ingrained habit by now; too many SG missions with untrustworthy natives. De Marco and Campbell took up watchful positions at the left and right of the group, but there was no sign of anything untoward.

"Are we going to the village?" Tony asked Mori.

"Oh, no," the little man answered, chuckling, "there is a ceremonial area some way to the north."

Tony glanced back at Lorne to make sure he was listening, before continuing, "Is it far?"

Mori shrugged, "Not too far. Half a day's walk for us, but you tall folk should have no problems." He chuckled again as if this was a joke.

"Mori!" hissed the other Crethin angrily, but was ignored.

"We have arranged transport. Come with me." Mori pointed through a narrow column of trees.

Lorne caught Tony's attention. "Did I miss this part of the briefing?"

The younger man flushed. "They never told me about this."

"Good," Lorne nodded. "I'd hate to have slept through something as important as leaving the gate for a half day's walk."

"I'm sorry, Major."

He did look apologetic. Lorne shrugged. "No big problem," he said. Yet again, he mentally thanked whoever organized teams for Atlantis that he did not have to put up with Dr McKay. There would have been no apology from that ego.

They soon came upon a little cart pulled by two almost-horses. The creatures were short, with thick dark fur and yellow slitted eyes like a cat. They had been mentioned in the briefing; temperamental as camels. They looked up at the Crethins and Lorne's team then turned back to munching from trough.

The nameless Crethin took the reins of the creatures while Mori directed first Tony, then the others onto the cart. It was a tight squeeze. It had obviously been designed for Crethins, and five humans and two locals were close to its full capacity. The almost-horses didn't seem to have any difficulty in pulling them, though. They accelerated to a hasty canter over the smooth forest track.

The third time Campbell had to remove Otugu's elbow from his side, the corporal muttered, "This would be more pleasant with a few nice looking girls, sir. That Athosian would be…" he disengaged De Marco's foot from his own. "…better than this."

"Does Lt. Cadman go off-world?" Tony asked with careful idleness. He was seated beside Mori at the front, so better placed to survive the jostling.

De Marco laughed, and Lorne smiled. "Tony, I would not go there. She's spoken for."

"And I wouldn't go pissing off that boyfriend," Campbell smiled.

Even Otugu dragged his attention away from the trees and grinned.

Poor Smith flushed, "I was only asking," he began.

De Marco took pity on him, and patted his knee. "Plenty more fish. Whole galaxy full of them. And if there's any problem, I hear that ascended women have some redeeming features."

Lorne half listened as the conversation moved on to discuss the various merits of the expedition's female contingent. Campbell and De Marco updated Tony on the attachment status of the women. Lorne despaired of the young scientist who obviously didn't get out of the lab often enough to keep up with the gossip.

The two Crethins were silent, and did not comment, even when De Marco had to drag Campbell back from crudity and into civilized conversation.

With half an ear on his men, Lorne studied the surroundings. They did not move out of the trees, but more of them had lost their leaves the higher they climbed. The sun continued to shine, and rose higher in the sky. There were plenty of places for an ambush, but the path remained deserted.

"Will you be returning to discuss the trade of foodstuffs, Major Lorne?" Mori asked eventually, when the conversation dried up.

"Perhaps."

"That would be acceptable." Mori said. "The season for trading begins after the festival and the giving of gifts."

Lorne felt a sinking feeling. "Gifts?"

Tony turned to stare at Mori. "Gifts?" he repeated.

"Why, yes," Mori said, breezily. "They are the main purpose of the ceremony. There will be giving of gifts to the Ceremonial Princess and music and dance and celebration…"

The other Crethin interrupted as he pulled the almost-horses to a stop. "They haven't brought a gift." He didn't sound upset, but Mori suddenly looked traumatized.

"No gift?" he squeaked.

Again, the team turned to face Lorne and waited expectantly. "No," he said. Internally he added a tirade at inadequate local intelligence, despite five hours of briefings.

"Oh, heaven, oh no," Mori said pitifully. He put his head into his hands. "No gift?"

The casual atmosphere on the trap evaporated. All three Marines became alert. Campbell dropped his hand to his P-90. Dr Otugu fiddled nervously with his sleeve, while poor Tony Smith looked thunderstruck.

"Is this a problem?" Lorne asked, although it was obvious at least Mori thought it was.

"No gift," he said again. He was almost crying.

The other Crethin snapped, "No problem. Except that everyone needs to bring a gift or next year's harvest will fail. And we'll all starve."

For a moment, Lorne thought the little guy sounded like an aggravated Dr McKay, but he shut that thought away fast.

The team members from Atlantis looked at each other. Lorne remembered what Smith had said at the woefully inadequate briefings – only those people who attended the harvest or spring festivals could hope to trade with the Crethins. Although Atlantis could survive without the medicinal herb, the Crethin foodstuffs would be helpful if the Athosian crop failed.

More importantly though, Lorne didn't want to turn up empty handed; even if it was only a mission to a harvest festival, it was still a mission.

"Is there anything else you could suggest?"

"Aside from turning around and taking you back to the ring?" the grumpy Crethin asked.

Mori looked up from his tear stained palms. "Perhaps there is something…"

-

"No way," was Lorne's initial reaction to the suggestion.

The other two marines nodded in agreement.

"They're only radios."

"We are not giving them the radios, Smith!"

Mori and the other Crethin were nodding at Tony. "Yes, that would be the way. The Ceremonial Princess will be very pleased with this trinket." Mori handed the radio he was looking at to the other Crethin. Lorne tried to snatch it back, but failed.

The nameless Crethin put the radio in his mouth and bit down, then handed it back. Tony gave a wan smile and wiped it on his pant's leg.

"I don't think there is any other way, Major."

"I'm not going to give them one of our radios," Lorne repeated. "Isn't there something else?"

"That weapon looks interesting…"

Lorne appealed to both marines and even the silent Otugu for advice. All that De Marco could offer was a tighter grip on his P-90.

"If we want to make this trade, then we need a gift," Tony said.

"Yes, but a radio?"

"Sir, it won't do anything unless it has another radio to communicate with."

It was a good point, Lorne thought. It wasn't like the Crethins had the capability to back-engineer the radio. And despite feeling like he was walking through a Star Trek episode a lot of the time, there was no Prime Directive here.

De Marco saw him considering it. "I don't like it sir."

Corporal Campbell shrugged. The silent Dr Otugu wasn't looking at them any more; he was watching a bird flitting between trees.

"If you want to attend the harvest festival, you need a gift," the nameless Crethin said.

Tony leant forward on his knees eagerly. He must have sensed Lorne weakening. The nameless Crethin muttered about missing the start of something called the Ale of Merriment.

"Ok. We give you a radio as our gift." Lorne waved a hand at Tony. "Your plan. You can requisition a new one from stores."

The young scientist nodded eagerly.

"Well, I'm glad that's been sorted out," the nameless Crethin said. "Now we can get on with it." He tapped the horses into a canter again.

"I'm not so sure about this, sir." De Marco said in a whisper.

"I don't see we have much of a choice. Otherwise, we came all this way for nothing." But Lorne still couldn't shake off the feeling that this was a bad idea

-

As he stepped off the cart, Lorne had the distinct impression of being Dorothy in Oz. He had the disturbing image of the Crethins spontaneously bursting into 'Follow the Yellow Brick Road.'

Mori took Tony's hand and led him through the press of people. Lorne waved the others in front, and then took up the rear position. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the other Crethin watching them from beside the almost-horses.

The crowds barely glanced at the newcomers. A few of the children pointed, but were quickly redirected by the adults. Tents and market stalls were doing brisk business, but it all seemed to be local trade among groups of Crethins.

"Don't you have any other off-worlders come to the ceremony?" Lorne asked. Tony heard the question and glanced around the crowd rapidly. It seemed he hadn't noticed that they were the only people taller than four feet. Typical scientist.

Mori said, "We do not ask our trading partners to attend every year. Just the first time is enough."

At least this wouldn't have to become a regular occurrence.

"Come, come, we are just in time."

The crowd stopped buying, selling or arguing at some secret signal, and began making its way towards a grove of trees. Mori had hold of Tony's hand again and led him towards the same destination. Lorne and the others had no choice but to follow.

The ceremony appeared to be taking place in a great depression in the earth like a natural amphitheatre. Rows upon rows of Crethins were filling the place up. Upwards of a thousand, Lorne guessed. Their chattering was loud in the ears.

It was a security nightmare. How the hell was he meant to protect his team against a thousand potentially hostile aliens?

De Marco whistled under his breath, while Campbell fingered his P-90 nervously. The two scientists merely stared in awe.

"This way," Mori said and began making his way down the roots and steps in the earth. The voices nearby hushed as they descended, and small children were not discouraged from staring this time.

Their guide waved to a few friends and pointed out some local dignitaries. Lorne ignored him; he was concentrating on the crowd. He might not be able to identify any threat before it materialized, but he wanted to spot anything as early as possible and have an escape route planned. If working for the SGC had taught him anything, it was 'always to expect the worst.'

Their destination was a bench five rows from the lowest point of the hollow; a bad defensive position. Like the others, it faced the dais at the lowest point. The stage was set with a lectern and a long empty table draped in white cotton beside a child-sized chair.

Hissed comments followed them: "…new aliens…" "I heard the Wraith destroyed Atlantis…" "…trading opportunities. Something about the Crethin root."

Lorne tried to identify the speaker each time, but was disappointed.

Mori gestured for them to sit. Lorne and Campbell took the ends of the bench, while De Marco sat in the center facing the crowd. Tony looked about to comment, when Lorne whispered, "We need a look-out."

Tony looked at the crowd and there was a slow dawning of realization across his face. Lorne swung between frustration that the scientist couldn't see the inherent threat in a thousand aliens, and thankfulness that at least one of them was still naive enough to believe that aliens meant what they said.

They had been seated for ten minutes when an elderly man in a loosely woven brown tunic stood from his bench and walked towards the dais. His steps were faltering, but once he reached the centre of the stage, he began speaking and it was clear why he had been chosen for this part.

His voice rang out, echoing against the sides of the hollow. Talk about vocal projection, Lorne thought. The crowd hushed to listen.

"Welcome to the Crethin harvest festival," he began. "This year we meet together as representatives of all the clans to give thanks for the bounty of harvest and the hope for that to come."

The crowd mumbled something. Even sitting beside Mori, Lorne couldn't understand. Perhaps it was some local dialect.

"Before the giving of gifts, I would like to ask you to join in song."

There was a swell of noise as the voices of a thousand Crethins began to sing.

Afterwards, Lorne described the following hours as among the worst in his life. Bar none. Capture was fine, threatening situations he could manage, explosions were no problem. Just don't make him go back and listen to the Crethin equivalent of musical endeavor.

At least he could discuss it -

Corporal Campbell refused to talk about it, ever. Even with his therapist.

Perhaps it was because Mori sang like a tone deaf cat, that Lorne got the impression that all the other Crethins sang the same way. He cringed and fought the urge to throw his hands over his ears.

A quick glance told him that his team was in much the same straits. De Marco had his teeth clenched but maintained his position. Campbell had his head down and his hands very firmly on the side of his head. He was a damn fine trumpet player and he looked like he might be in pain from the discord. Tony's mouth was set in a grimace.

On the other hand, Dr. Otugu looked like he might be enjoying it.

The 'singing' seemed to go on for hours before the old man raised his hands and peace settled. Campbell muttered something that sounded like a prayer under his breath.

"On this day we meet to join in thanks and celebration. The Ceremonial Princess will join us shortly, but first, let us raise our voices in song again."

Perhaps it was some kind of torture designed to soften up your enemy before taking them down. Perhaps in a more warlike culture, this 'singing' would be used to scare the enemy as two armies lined up on the field. Even the Wraith would have some difficulty with it.

Certainly it wasn't the kind of music Lorne was used to hearing at religious festivals. It would have been appropriate for the Crethin gods to arrive on the dais and say "Yeah, thanks folks, the sentiment's lovely, would you mind taking your caterwauling to another continent?"

They sang five such songs. By the end, Lorne was ready to welcome an ambush or a fire-fight if it would shut them up. Tony's face had fallen, but at least he still had his eyes open. Campbell looked like he was in the middle of a migraine and ready to curl up and die. Lorne made a mental note that Charlie could stay in Atlantis for the next mission that threatened assault by 'music.'

He hoped for the gift part of the ceremony now, but was disappointed. Instead, the dancing started.

A dozen rotund male and female Crethins descended from the upper reaches of the seating. They hopped down the stairs to chanting and stamping from the assembly. Campbell opened his eyes at last, only to be met with the sight of a Crethin 'band' tuning up instruments. He groaned and closed his eyes again. De Marco was closest and put a commiserating hand on the young marine's shoulder.

"How long does this last?" Lorne hissed at Tony.

The scientist looked horrified. "I don't know," he whispered.

"The trade better be worth it."

The troupe of dancers began removing their outer layers to reveal skimpy bikini style outfits replete with ribbons and bells. At least, Lorne assumed that they were all wearing bikinis; it was hard to tell under the rolls of fat.

The musicians (and he used that term loosely) started up. The dancers began gyrating and twirling to the discordant notes. Each dancer did their own thing seemingly without any consideration of those nearby. There were a number of minor collisions and three major ones that resulted in a tangle of half naked bodies lying on the dais. An embarrassed giggle rippled through the crowd each time it happened.

Fortunately the dancing wasn't as bad as the singing had been. Campbell managed to open his eyes and lost some of his green tinge. He watched the dancers with the same expression of fascinated horror as the others.

Once the dance had finished the crowd clapped politely. Lorne's team followed suit, except Campbell, who didn't look to be in any state to respond.

"We have visitors with us today," the old man said from the lectern. Lorne was dismayed to note that dancers did not seem to be moving off the stage. They whispered among themselves and the few bells that were not impeded by the rolls of fat rang out softly.

"These people," the Crethin pointed out Lorne and his men, "have joined us for the harvest festival this year, and wish to trade." There was more polite applause. "So we shall perform for them the dance of new friendships."

The musicians started again, and if it were possible, sounded even more out of tune than they had a moment ago. Campbell looked as if he was ready to run, and he didn't care where.

This dance seemed to have steps, but it looked like a square dance choreographed by three year olds. Each Crethin took a partner and bounced and swung each other a beat or two out of synch. The crowd was respectfully silent.

Lorne was coming to conclusion that no medicinal herb could be worth this.

It lasted longer than the previous dance. They repeated the same steps countless times, but did not demonstrate any improvement. And they remained just out of time with both the music and each other.

The music finished, followed by the dancers. They came to a stuttering halt; one continued to dance a full three seconds on her own. He wasn't surprised when they stayed on the stage. To make matters worse, even more of the little fat dancers descended from the audience onto the dais.

It was too much for Campbell. He whispered, "Oh my god!" and put his head into his hands in abject defeat. Both De Marco and Tony had their jaws tight in a grimace of discomfort. The only member of the SGA team who did not look like he was being tortured was Dr Otugu, who was almost smiling.

There were another three dances. Each was more inept than the one before. Two performers had to be carried off suffering injuries sustained in particularly crunching falls. Once, to Lorne's horror, the music stopped to allow the injured dancer to be removed, and then waited for the dancers to restart.

Was this what people meant by cruel and unusual punishment? Had he been an evil dictator in a past life? He was sure even Genghis Khan would have been spared this in a subsequent life.

The dancers crowded around the dais for the final vote of thanks. Polite applause echoed around the hollow. Only the two scientists could bring themselves to clap, and only Dr Otugu did so with any enthusiasm. Campbell roused himself from the pit of a migraine and blinked at the stage.

The elderly man was back at the lectern again.

"Thank you," he said to the dancers, then thanked the crowd for their support.

"Now, to complete our ceremony of thanks," he said, and all five members of the Atlantis team perked up at the mention of the end of this two hour torture session. "We shall have the Giving of Gifts."

It was incredible, Major Lorne thought ninety minutes later, how much tedium such a simple three word phrase could imply.

When he had been six, his mother and stepfather had twin girls. Their birth had been alright – it was their birthdays until he moved out at age sixteen, that the Giving of Gifts reminded him of.

He had had to watch as Marnie and Monica received various relatives bestowing gifts on the two little blond beauties. Lorne used to watch for hour upon hour as they paid court.

The little Crethin child who sat on the dais was no Marnie or Monica. She was too small and dark for either of his childhood nemeses, but there was a beatific smile on her face as she accepted the gifts that Crethin representatives bestowed upon her.

The long table gradually filled with hand carved statuettes, bushels of fine crops, spirits, handcrafts and written works. Each community representative knelt at the Ceremonial Princess's feet and presented her with their gift.

She nodded carefully at each one. Occasionally something would capture her interest. She appreciated the likeness of the Stargate painted on thin hide and a drinking bowl made from the skull of some unfortunate mammal.

"Sir," De Marco whispered. "We're due to report in." He gestured to his watch - 1255 hours.

Lorne nodded. Much more of this and he was going to give his excuses and just contact Atlantis.

"And now the deputation from the former City of Atlantis would like to present your grace with their gift," the old man said.

The child looked suddenly interested.

Lorne nudged Tony to stand. The scientist was nervous, unsurprising given that the assembled crowd in the hollow had hushed and turned to face him.

Lorne was suddenly conscious of the fact that this was probably more important than just giving the kid a present. He sensed that the future state of negotiations between the two people might be dictated by how she accepted this gift.

Tony stumbled over the feet of the Crethins who did not move out of the way fast enough. He mumbled apologies, but was met by stony silence.

The girl watched his descent carefully. There was an acquisitiveness in her eyes that Lorne recognized as Marnie and Monica from all those long ago birthdays.

As Tony stepped onto the dais, he held out the radio to the child. She looked at it and gingerly extended a hand to pick it up. Tony pushed his hand forward to encourage her, and she picked it up with a thumb and forefinger.

The crowd hushed even more, if that were possible. There was total silence in the hollow. Lorne held his breath.

The girl brought her other hand up to hold the radio. The assembly sighed as one. The gift had been accepted. The murmur of conversation restarted.

Emboldened by his apparent success, Tony indicated to the child how the radio was to be fitted into the ear. She copied his movement with a little trepidation.

That was when it happened. The only member of the Atlantis team to not realize was the unfortunate Tony who couldn't understand why the girl screamed and dropped the radio. He looked about in shock, but the reason for the fright was only obvious to the others, who were still wearing their own radios.

"The time is 1300 hours," said an artificial voice. "Contact due."

Lorne raised his hand to his ear to turn the damn alarm off, but even if he had been in time, the control was inside Tony's pocket.

Campbell had rallied from migrainous hell and said in a quiet voice, "Not good."

It turned out to be an understatement of epic proportions.

The screaming Ceremonial Princess looked like she was about to burst into tears, and it seemed that unhappy Ceremonial Princesses did not make for happy crowds either.

The chatter that had built up around them swelled to new heights. Its mood changed too. There was a loud undercurrent of discontent, and it was rapidly shifting to anger.

Lorne glanced once at Mori, but he looked even angrier than the other Crethins. His face had flushed and it was possible to hear him mutter, "…kind of gratitude is this?"

Lorne, De Marco and Campbell put their hands on their P-90's. Dr Otugu raised himself from a doze to look about stupidly.

"Come on back, Tony," Lorne whispered to himself. He had a definite feeling that this might be a problem.

"I think we should leave, sir," De Marco said as he eyed the crowd. A few of the Crethins had stood up. Some were making threatening gestures.

Tony had at last sensed the change in mood and he began hurrying up the slope towards them as fast as he could.

Hot on his heels came a group of Crethins from the lower seats. In the lead was the elderly man who had been the master of ceremonies. The girl stood forgotten, sobbing with the radio lying at her feet.

Lorne made a command decision. "Let's get out of here."

Tony reached them even as Dr Otugu stood. The boy was breathless as he said, "I think we outstayed…"

Lorne grabbed his arm. "Couldn't agree more," he said as he turned the scientist back the way they had entered the hollow.

And came face to face with another mob of angry Crethins. Children and old people swarmed with everyone else.

It was a force of undeniable nature. The Crethins pressed in from above and below, climbing over roots and trees to reach Lorne and the others.

Lorne and the two soldiers made as close to a protective formation around the two scientists as they could. Each Marine readied their gun, but the Crethins kept coming.

Funny, an irreverent part of Lorne's brain thought, he'd been out in the field with too many missions to count, to hostile, warlike planets. He'd fought the Wraith and Gou'ald for Christ's sake, and he was going to die at a harvest festival, crushed by a crowd of hobbits because of a damned talking clock!

Campbell raised his P-90. Lorne was about to tell him to calm it, when a burst of new conversation began in the crowd.

Words filtered out, "…very interesting …," "Never seen one like that before …," and other such phrases that sounded less aggressive.

A brave little fellow stepped up to Campbell and touched the gun. The corporal twitched, but to Lorne's eternal gratitude, did not fire. The thought of this degenerating into a blood bath was inconceivable. He'd rather give away all their weapons and radios and clothes than for anyone to start shooting. There were kids here.

The same little guy reached his hands out for the P-90, soon to be joined by another thirty small hands.

Campbell glanced at the Major for instructions. In the face of a few hundred innocents who were not showing the sensible reaction to heavily armed soldiers in their midst, there didn't seem to be much choice. Lorne nodded to indicate that Campbell could let them take the gun. The corporal emptied it of ammunition, and the bold man frowned. His was the first set of hands to hold the gun, and did so with practiced ease.

After that it was inevitable that the other weapons should go the same way. They were passed around the crowd and admired appreciatively.

They filtered down to the dais and onto the long table with the other gifts.

The radios went the same way. Some of the Crethins held them up to their ears, hoping for a repeat of what had scared the Ceremonial Princess, but they were disappointed.

Lorne cringed as the smaller handguns joined the P-90s.

They almost got away with it. They'd been divested of their weapons without bloodshed or rioting, until someone tried to take Dr Otugu's computer. He seemed to rouse himself from his semi-permanent doze and struggled. Suddenly it was like a tide of anger swept over them. The individual blows were uncoordinated but by virtue of their being so many, quite a few connected. Lorne felt dozens of angry kicks and gouges to his legs and went down in a heap as a particularly well targeted boot took his knee out from underneath him. He fought back, but it was nearly impossible. The assailants shifted so quickly it was difficult to keep a target within sight long enough to retaliate.

It stopped as abruptly as it began. De Marco helped him up as the Crethins moved back. The reason for the cessation of violence was the relinquishing of the computer. It was now clutched in Crethin arms.

Lorne straightened up. The Crethins ringed them in a threatening circle, while the computer headed down the hill towards the table.

Campbell hissed, "We're not just going to let them do this, sir?"

Rough counts put the assembled Crethins at about one thousand. That would leave the five team members from Atlantis outnumbered, oh, two hundred to one. Not to mention, of course, that even if they had been fully armed, Lorne wasn't sure he could order a massacre of these people.

"We should leave," Tony whispered.

Dr. Otugu nodded, and De Marco shrugged.

"Perhaps that would be for the best," Mori said as he pushed his way through the crowd to stand a few steps in front of them. He was frowning and fingering one of the appropriated radios.

It wasn't retreat Lorne told himself as he led his limping team back up the slope. Campbell had a black eye and was barely able to manage a straight line. De Marco walked beside him, waiting to offer assistance, but all suggestions that the younger Marine take an arm to help were dismissed.

The two scientists were in marginally better shape. Tony was flushed in a mix of anger and embarrassment. Dr. Otugu muttered angrily under his breath.

Lorne limped after them, cursing the Crethins, cursing drawing straws for missions and especially cursing damn talking clocks.

He also promised himself that the only person who would get the full story of this debacle was Dr Weir. He'd get the others to stay silent if he had to bribe them with his entire leave.

The Crethins stepped back to let them through. There was utter silence except for their footsteps and Tony's shaky "oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." The sound of the little girl sobbing drifted up from the dais.

At the top of the hollow, Tony and Campbell paused and looked back. They were encouraged on their way by a couple of less than friendly shoves and kicks. Campbell looked ready to hit back, but steadying hands restrained him.

"Keep moving, big folk," one of the braver Crethins said.

With De Marco's hand on Campbell's arm, they left the harvest festival in defeat.

-

The surrounding forest was empty of Crethins as they paused to re-group.

Surprisingly it was Dr. Otugu who broke the stunned silence. "That might have gone better," he said mildly.

"You could say," De Marco said.

"Oh, yeah, could have gone a whole lot better…" Campbell started to say angrily until Lorne interrupted.

"I think that's been established, Corporal. What equipment do we have left?"

'Not much' was the answer. No communications, no detectors and no firearms. The closest things they had to weapons were a couple of penknives.

"Not enough to mount an offensive, sir," De Marco said as he inspected their inventory.

"We're not really in an offensive position. We go back home and regroup."

They didn't look happy, but they all nodded. No one liked a failed mission.

Lorne gestured for De Marco to take point; of them all he seemed to be the least injured. Campbell followed the two scientists. Lorne took up the rear position. He managed a couple of steps before his knee gave way beneath him. He swore, but didn't quite end up in a heap on the ground.

Four pairs of hands shot out to help him, but the nearest pair did not belong to anyone on his team.

The Crethin who had accompanied Mori and driven the cart caught the Major's arm and balanced him with the lower center of gravity.

Lorne glanced at the Crethin's concerned expression before saying, "Thanks." He rubbed his knee gingerly, but the ache had set in with a vengeance.

"I do not believe we were formally introduced," the Crethin said and, of all things, thrust his hand out to be shaken.

Lorne shook it, to the little man's obvious delight.

"I wasn't sure if I'd got that right, you know. My contacts told me about it, but it's an absurdly complicated gesture." He thrust out his hand to each of the others, who duly returned the gesture.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lorne said when it looked as though the Crethin was about to start another round of hand-shaking. "You said introductions?"

"Yes, yes. I am Nawi. I'm the head of trade for the Crethins."

Lorne was aware of his jaw dropping as he tried to keep up with this shift of expectations.

Tony found his voice first. "You?"

Nawi nodded and stood taller, to almost four feet.

"But you drove the cart? And you weren't at the festival."

"Why would I want to go and watch that, when the Ale of Merriment is available?"

It was good question that Tony didn't seem to know the answer to.

The Crethin grinned widely as he turned to Lorne.

"I'd like to make arrangements to start formal trade discussions."

At least Lorne's jaw wasn't the only one near the floor. Tony stuttered "P…pardon?"

"Trade. That was what you came here for. No off-worlders go the harvest festival for any other reason."

Lorne said, "I guess not."

"Good. Now, I have an opening in seven days, at mid-day, for preliminary discussions."

Lorne gathered his wits. "Where?"

"I have an inventory at the village near the Ring. Now it will be quite preliminary as the Taranis are due at daybreak and Dr. Pero talks for hours."

"Excuse me for asking, but is this the way it normally works?"

"Oh, yes," Nawi nodded enthusiastically. "You've done the hardest bit, and not as poorly as some other people."

"But we lost our weapons!" Campbell growled.

Nawi grinned and clapped Campbell on the elbow. "Everyone needs to give a gift at the harvest festival. I suspect yours were gratefully received."

Lorne looked at the little man smiling happily at their discomfiture. "Do you mean this was some kind of test? We could have shot at them."

"You would not have lived to pull the trigger again. There are long-range weapons-masters at the entrance to the hollow."

Lorne hadn't spotted any snipers , but he could see no reason for Nawi to lie.

"So why?"

"That's the genius of it all," Nawi said. He turned and began walking away. "We test you and give you a reason to make sure you come back to trade." He chuckled as he spun back to face them and pointed. "Seven days, Major Lorne. I'm sure I can do you a very good deal on your weapons and radios."

They watched as he disappeared around a tree.

Lorne's team gathered themselves slowly and started the long walk back to the Stargate.

Perhaps this was the kind of mission Sheppard found himself on all the time. Lorne promised to show a little more sympathy the next time the Colonel found himself in the infirmary. Maybe if he did that, there would be a chance of persuading Sheppard's team to attend the trade talks. He heard that Teyla was very good at that sort of thing.

End


End file.
